


Healing Hands

by agent85



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 3x17 The Team, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9605207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: Simmons patches up Fitz after they get caught in the blast of the bomb meant for Malick. Fitz returns the favor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was going through my drafts folder and found this little thing I started writing in April and promptly forgot about. Enjoy!

When she first grabbed his hand, in the midst of falling ashes, he'd barely been able to believe it. And yet, she'd had a brightness in her eyes and an excitement on her lips that, Heaven help him, made him fall for her all over again.

And just for a second, when her fingers slipped between his and she beamed like she was the sun, he didn't feel small. 

How could he, when she was smiling at him?

So now, when everything is falling apart again, it's her hands that concern him most. The bandage she slapped over her wound is stained red, but she seems more concerned with the cuts on his forehead.

He winces at the sting, pulling out of her reach against his better judgment, knowing the look she will use to chastise him.

"Fitz, hold still."

"I'm trying."

He is trying, but he's not trying very hard, because there are other wounds that sting, and he's afraid. He keeps thinking that he's getting braver as he goes through crucible after crucible, but the truth is that he's just moving the fear around. He's not afraid of dying now, not afraid of bullets or demons, but he is afraid of her. He's afraid for her, too.

He did just watch a bomb go off in her face, after all.

And here she is, patching him up and ignoring the way she bleeds. 

She rests her fingertips on his cheek, looking him over with a determination that takes his breath away. 

"Your cuts aren't too deep," she says. "I was so worried."

"Were you?"

She's searching his eyes now, and must not realize that her fingers linger on his cheek, must not remember that the last time she touched him like that was after she . . .

"Fitz," she sighs, as if that's all the answer he needs. It isn't.

"Yeah, but . . ." He takes in a sharp breath. "It's not like I haven't had worse."

"Bad things that happened in the past don't preclude me from caring about your safety in the present," she says, "though I did hear about an incident in which you had a bomb _stuck to your throat_." He tries to gauge her meaning by the look in her eyes, but she puts rubbing alcohol on his cut, making him wince again. "Would have been nice if you'd thought to tell me about that."

"That was weeks ago!" He tries to peek at her, but she does it again in another place. "Hey! I told Daisy that we should tell you, but we were able to figure it out on our own."

"That's odd," murmurs Jemma, "because Daisy told me you said you didn't want me involved."

It's true; he'd said that in the same breath he'd told Daisy they should involve her after all. He squeezes his eyes shut to think.

"Yeah," he said, "well, I didn't know . . . I wasn't sure if . . ."

"I'd care?" Jemma rolls her eyes and scoffs at him. "Fitz. Of course I'd care. It was you."

That wasn't what he'd meant at all, but he's too struck by déjà vu to correct her. She'd said those three words before, it the exact same way.

_It wasn't Ward by my side in that lab searching for a cure. It wasn't Ward giving me hope when I had none. It was you._

And then she'd called him a hero, kissed him on the cheek, and left him to realize he'd been in love with her since the first day they met. Now, she'd standing in front of him, scolding him, and he's realizing it all over again. 

He sits there for a moment, slack-jawed, before he can pull himself together.

"Um," he says, "no, actually. I just . . . didn't want to worry you, that's all."

What he doesn't say is that the truth is somewhere between her statement and his, that he hadn't been sure where he stood in their reset relationship. But if he'd seen the way she draws her lower lip between her teeth when she looks at him, he never would have doubted.

If she keeps drawing his attention to her mouth, she'll have no doubt as to how he feels, either.

He focuses his attention on her hands instead, the hands that are still fussing over him while blood trickles down her cheek. He grabs a sterile wipe and cleans her wound, making her wince the same way he did.

"Remember earlier," he says as he moves to the cuts on her forehead, "when we were in hazmat suits, and you said that things could be worse?" Her eyes find his, and he smirks at her. "Is this what you meant?"

"No," she says, "of course not. I meant that we were together, at least."

He's so shocked that his hands fall down towards his lap, and somehow, she catches them. It's like when she held his hand after Mack and Bobbi betrayed them, like when she reached out for a handshake and asked if they could start over. It's like when she took his hand in the eye of the storm and told him they were inevitable. She keeps doing this, over and over, and she has to know what it means to him. She has to be trying to say something.

That's why he's so scared. He's still recovering from the cuts she accidentally left in his heart.

But he doesn't let go of her hand. He doesn't have the power. He just watches as she strokes her thumb over  his skin, too afraid of what he'll see in her eyes. If she sees his, she'll know that he wants this, whether it'll hurt or not. He's not sure if he's ready, but she's always been able to heal him with her hands.

It's another trickle of blood that makes him break the silence, this time coming from the bandage on her arm. He sucks air through his teeth, and her eyebrows raise when she follows his gaze. She lets go of his hands.

"Better change that, I think."

She walks away to grab more gauze, and he feels so pathetic, so needy. He wants this, and even if he _is_ ready, or close to it, he's pretty sure she's not. He's cursing himself when she comes back and hands the gauze to him.

"I've always felt safe in your hands," she says.

He should roll his eyes at her and remind her that she's the doctor, but he's mesmerized by the smile that hides in the corner of her mouth. He obeys the lift of her eyebrows and removes the old bandage, scrunching his nose a bit when he sees her wound. She laughs, despite everything. He thinks it might be the best sound he's ever heard.

He thinks she's about to say something when Mack pokes his head into the lab.

"Hey, I need your help with something."

Fitz furrows his brow and shakes his head. "Coulson told us to patch each other up and lay low."

"Yeah," Mack says with a shrug, "well, he told me to look through the lockers and see if we can figure out which one of them turned."

Fitz turns to Jemma and sees that she also knows Mack is talking about the Inhumans. She clears her throat, starts tidying up the medical supplies, and they're out the door in a few seconds flat. Fitz's heart sinks when he realizes he'll never hear what she was going to say to him.

He feels better, though, when she's walking next to him, her hands swinging a little with every step she takes.

Whatever's happening with their team, he's sure they can fix it together.

**Author's Note:**

> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).


End file.
